Another Conversation with the King
by FrancesOsgood
Summary: In which His Majesty attempts to broker peace between the warring factions of his Scribe's psyche. Like a big, glittery, smirking United Nations.


I really should have known. Should have seen from the trail of glitter down my hall that I had been granted a visit from His Majesty. Nonetheless, I was still taken by surprise by the sight of him sprawled out across my new queen-size mattress with his hands behind his head and his boots crossed at the ankle.

"Goblin King, what are you doing here?" I asked, not so much perturbed as rattled.

He gave me a slow smile. "You were due a visit," he answered simply. He patted the space on the bed next to him. "Come," he purred. "Let's chat, shall we?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and moved toward my desk chair.

"I think I'll sit over here, Your Majesty."

"Now dear," he said with a little pout. "You know I don't bite. Hard."

"Well, if it's all the same, I prefer to sit here." I plopped down into my swivelling desk chair and turned it around to face him.

The Goblin King sat up a little, uncrossing his boots and bending his right knee, proudly displaying his ever-so-tight black leather pants. I tried to focus my attention on the painting above his head, which did little to help since the painting was of an octopus.

_Whatever you do, don't think about Japanese porn. Fuck._

The Goblin King smiled again, noting my obvious discomfort and graciously gave me a new train of thought.

"You've been writing again," he said.

I nodded. "I have. It's nice. I wasn't sure I would ever write again. Wasn't sure I _could_. But I am and I'm enjoying it…"

"But?"

"But nothing. That's all."

"No, there was more to that statement," the king told me. "I could see it in your eyes. Don't think you can hide anything from me."

"I'm not?" It was more of a question than a rebuttal.

The Goblin King rose from the bed and approached and leaned over my chair.

"You're still a horrible liar, my dear," he chided. "You think I don't know what's weighing on your mind?"

"Please enlighten me," I said half-sarcastically. I really didn't want to rile him up when he was looming over me like that. Gratefully, he moved and began to pace the room.

"You are at war with yourself. Do you deny it?" he asked, dramatically swirling his cape behind him. I coughed at the cloud of glitter he'd stirred up and tried to clear the air by fanning my hand in front of my face.

"To what ***cough*** are you referring ***cough cough***, Your Majesty ***cough***?"

He stopped in his pacing and rolled his eyes at me. Stepping toward my chair he poked a leather-clad finger to my forehead. "I mean simply that _this _is at war with _this."_ Here he moved his finger from my forehead and poked it into my chest. "Your head quarrels with your heart and you let it have reign. As a result, you hold back from writing what you truly want. You censor yourself and therefore censor _Me." _

"I really don't think… I've given you plenty… I…" I fumbled for an appropriate argument. "I gave you a gay love scene!" I blurted.

The Goblin King chuckled. "Oh yes, a nice safe little mention, and then what happened? One little pearl-clutcher made you second-guess what you knew in your heart was right to write. Why is that, I wonder?" He put a finger to his chin and cocked his eyes toward me.

"Idunno," I shrugged stupidly. "It was an unfair critique. Bigotry is not cool."

The king raised an arched eyebrow. "Is that what really what upset you? Homophobia? You _live_ in Alabama."

I shrugged again. "What are you getting at?"

He moved to the end of the bed and sat down facing me. "You weren't as upset about the bigotry as you were by the idea that you had disappointed someone. You were bothered by the implication that some anonymous person suddenly thought less of you."

"So?" I said sulkily.

"So, do you plan to let such fear continue to dictate what you create with words or otherwise? Are you always going to hold yourself back from true self-expression because of what a few people might think? Isn't that why you stopped writing the first time? Hmmm?"

The Goblin King leaned back on his arms and smirked.

"Oh my poor repressed little scribe," he tutted.

"Hey," I said shooting him a hard glare. "I'm Baptist. Being repressed is kind of what we do."

He gave me a quizzical look and I explained.

"We don't talk about sex or sexuality. As far as any of us are concerned, none of us ever have sex. Our children are grown in cabbage patches or delivered by storks. Hell, we don't even dance because it's considered 'sex with clothes on'."

For once, the Goblin King was without words. He simply stared wide-eyed as I continued.

"Look," I told him. "I've always been the good girl. You know, the angel on the straight and narrow. There are some parts of my inner self that I don't dare share because I know people will think I'm some kind of sexual deviant."

"Oh, my dear," he said with a smirk. "They already know."

"What! How?" I cried jumping up from my chair.

"You had a child out of wedlock and then seduced your English professor."

"Oh yeah, right," I said blushing. I sat back down and swivelled back and forth. 'What can I do about it?" I asked him. "It's kind of hardwired into me. I love when I can let go and write with honesty, but there's always a fear in the back of my mind that the wrong person will find it and read it and tell everyone how twisted I am."

"Why do you care? Why is what you're _perceived _to be so important to you?"

"Reputations are important where I come from, Your Majesty. They carry weight for generations."

"Utterly ridiculous," he scoffed.

"Perhaps, but it's still the case."

He leaned forward to where I sat and looked me squarely in the eye. "Then it's up to you to prove that you can balance being a good little Baptist girl with being a woman who likes wine and the word 'fuck' and writing really naughty stories about me. It will require some bravery, but I think you can manage it."

"I don't know," I said. "That's asking a lot of the people I know. Most just won't be able to accept it."

"Then fuck them," the Goblin King snapped. "If they can't accept the dark, dirty parts of you, they don't deserve the bright, saintly ones."

I was silent for a moment, mulling over his words. "I guess you're right," I said at last.

"My dear, I'm always right," he assured me. He stood and straightened his cape. "I hope this little chat has been helpful."

"It really has, Your Majesty," I told him. "Sorry if you've felt… inhibited."

He smiled at me, a wide benevolent smile seen only rarely. "I'm not here only for myself, little scribe," he said gently. "I want _you _to be uninhibited. At least where words are concerned." He squatted down and took both of my hands in his. His eyes were kind as they gazed into mine.

"Some day you're going to have a chance to bring your words to a larger audience. If you hesitate out of fear of failure or social repercussions, you might miss it. You must be brave. If people use your honesty as a reason to walk away, let them. And don't look back. Write your story _your _way and don't let anyone tell you it's wrong."

He gave my hands a squeeze and rose to his feet. "That fellow with my face and voice that you admire so much… how did you describe him?"

"Fearless," I said, my voice cracking.

"Yes, well. Don't forget that," he replied.

"No. I'll never."

"That's a good girl," he said with a wink before disappearing in a sparkly puff.

I sat for a few minutes, swivelling back and forth in thought before pulling out my laptop and opening up my Google docs. I hit the Spotify app and scrolled through my music files until I found a song to fit my mood. My fingers flew over the keyboard almost in time with the rock beat and I sang little snippets of the song as I worked.

"'_Cause the pretty things are goin' to Hell…"_

**_The End_**

* * *

**A/N: Tricky though he may be, His Nibs is a fountain of wisdom. I highly recommend regularly sitting at his boots and taking notes. If you aren't allergic to glitter. **

**~Fanny~**


End file.
